


blood is fire pulsing

by thismagichour



Series: Bad Things Happen, but It'll Turn Out Okay [6]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 15:46:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17409710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thismagichour/pseuds/thismagichour
Summary: To Fjord and Caleb, this is familiar. They hold each other together.For the bad things happen bingo prompt "Tortured for Information."





	blood is fire pulsing

**Author's Note:**

> We're back to bad things happening, and we're back at it again with no beta! Yeehaw

This, _finally_ , is something he is familiar with. After months of treading water, of not understanding what people want, or how to connect, or what to do, he is finally back on dry land. It is easy to fall back on old habits. It is simple to become the man that the Master was trying to make him. There is something broken in him, he has always known that, and this is no exception, but as the hot iron pierces him, the pain is drowned out by something like relief.

 

Fjord thinks that this might really break him, at last. This is the second time he’s been manacled and powerless, at the mercy of others, while one of his companions screamed themselves hoarse in the room across the way. Fjord’s grip on reality now is tenuous, at best, but he knows he’s got to push through it, because Caleb will need him soon, and he’s got to be here to help when they’re done. His tongue worries at the edges of his chipped tusks so long that he doesn’t notice when his mouth fills with blood. He spits it out absently, and thinks of anything he can to distract himself, to kill the time, as they slowly but surely kill Caleb across the hall. The rest of the group is safe, at least, and they will find him and Caleb eventually, because that’s what this group does. They will always find each other, no matter how badly they screwed up. Nott will come for Caleb, at the very least, and that idea is a comfort. Fjord is alright dying in this place, so long as it guaranteed that Caleb has someone coming for him. All Fjord has to do is keep Caleb alive long enough to get him out. As Caleb’s cries echo around him, he recognizes it may not be that simple.

 

“The Beacon,” they keep saying, “the Beacon,” but he is long past the point of understanding the words. He is in the arms of Astrid, and Eodwulf is murmuring gentle nothings in his ears. He spent many times after sessions with the Master in this same position, as had the other two. They all knew the score, they knew how to hold each other together. Here, in his time of need, they have returned to him, at last. They forgive him his weakness, and he is safe, finally, in the arms of the only two people outside of his parents that have ever truly loved him. So though the heat burns inside of him, and the cold cuts him, he barely feels it anymore. And it is so beautiful here. He had missed this. He has missed them. But they are here now, and he is invincible. “The Beacon” ceases to hold any meaning, he is not even sure that is what his captors are saying anymore. The Beacon. He drifts. The Beacon.

 

After what seems like forever, they return Caleb to his cell. Fjord backs all the way up against the wall when they prompt him, he doesn’t make any sudden movements when they open the door. They’ve only chained his hands together, and not to the wall, so he doesn’t push his luck. He’s good, even though every muscle in him is screaming to fight, to run, to _consume_. Caleb needs him, and he has to be patient. They drop Caleb, half-conscious and murmuring in Zemnian to himself, unceremoniously to the stone floor, and the second the cell door closes, Fjord’s on him like a shot. Fjord lifts him under the arms and drags him backwards, so he’s laying in Fjord’s lap, and Fjord braces his own back in a corner of the cell. Caleb is not conscious, not really, he keeps repeating what Fjord thinks are names, but his Zemnian is too thick for Fjord to really understand. Caleb’s eyes are a million miles away, but it isn’t like when he’s looking through Frumpkin. This is much, much worse.

“Caleb,” Fjord says, as gentle as he can, but even still, his voice sounds like it’s being dragged over coals. Caleb stiffens, for a moment, but doesn’t respond, and doesn’t seem to show any recognition of Fjord. Fjord desperately goes over all of his spells in his head, but everything he’s been gifted is for lying or for fighting, and neither of those things is helpful at the moment. He wishes that their positions were reversed, because Caleb might actually be useful in this situation. He should wish Caduceus or Jester were here, but he doesn’t. Both of them are too soft for this, god knows Jester’s suffered enough already, and Fjord and Caleb are already shattered creatures. They are the ones most equipped, except maybe Beau. Fjord wouldn’t wish this on her either. He just wishes Caleb were here, truly here, with him, to tell him what to do. So he takes it real methodical. He assesses Caleb’s wounds (the missing fingernails are nasty but fine, the puncture wounds that are already cauterized are going to need an eye kept on them, his wrists are bruised and chafed from manacles but not broken, and the ribs seemed to be broken but not puncturing anything else, he hopes). As he finishes this, Caleb reaches out a hand back to him. Fjord hesitates, but roughly (always too rough) grabs Caleb’s hand, careful not to let his chains hit any of Caleb’s injuries.

“ _Eodwulf_ ,” Caleb says, clearer than he has been.

“No,” Fjord says, through gritted teeth, “just me. Just Fjord.”

“ _Eodwulf_ ,” Caleb repeats, clutching Fjord’s hand tighter, “ _bitte_ _verzeih mir,”_ Caleb says, and Fjord grits his teeth, and makes a decision. He shakes Caleb, hard. Caleb takes a gasping breath in response to what must be excruciating pain.

“Caleb, I need you with me right now. Come back to me,” Fjord says, firm. Caleb’s glazed eyes take hold again.

“Fjord,” Caleb says, breathless. All the air rushes out of Fjord at once and he pulls Caleb further into his lap, plants his face in Caleb’s hair.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know what else to do, forgive me,” Fjord says, speaking directly against Caleb’s skull.

“It would be best,” Caleb says, and is stopped by a coughing fit, “it would be best if you could pick the voice I know and stick with it for now, Fjord.”

“Right,” Fjord says, shaking himself, “I apologize. Stress tends to muddle me a bit. You understand.”

“I do,” Caleb says, his voice thin.

“What can I do? What do you need?” Fjord says, desperate.

“I will tell you what to do. But I would like to rest a bit, first,” Caleb says.

“Of course,” Fjord says, “I’ll leave you be.”

“No!” Caleb says forcefully, and then takes a sharp breath, and modulates his voice, “no, this is, ah, good. Just stay like this, if you don’t mind. Just for a moment.”

“Of course,” Fjord repeats dumbly. They sit in silence for a while, or rather, Fjord does, Caleb remains curled in his lap. Caleb is still holding his hand, and occasionally Fjord can feel the fingers twitch in his, though Fjord is unsure if this is from pain or merely thought. 

“It will be alright, Fjord,” Caleb says, eventually. Fjord barely restrains a laugh.

“And how’ve you come to that particular conclusion?” Fjord says, quietly.

“They are very bad torturers,” Caleb says, and though Fjord can’t see his face he thinks Caleb is smiling.

“They seem to have done a number on you all the same,” Fjord says, and he winces at his tone.

“Ah, exactly,” Caleb says, and Fjord is certain now that Caleb is grinning, “there are a few things about torture, Fjord. The first is that torture does not work as an interrogation method. The person being tortured will tell anyone anything to make the pain stop, eventually. People do not tell the truth under duress.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Fjord says, and does not follow up with the several questions Caleb is creating in him.

“Ja, do,” Caleb says, dismissively, “the second thing is that - if you are looking to cause the most pain, you should work your way up to the larger wounds. They started here,” he says, and gestures to his puncture wounds with his free hand.

“And you hardly even felt them take your nails,” Fjord says, understanding. Caleb nods frantically against him.

“They allowed me to go into shock,” Caleb says, and his voice borders on mania, “and so were highly ineffective.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that, exactly,” Fjord says, and he runs his thumb lightly over Caleb’s knuckles, stopping short of where the blood has run down Caleb’s fingers.

“However,” Caleb carries on, as if Fjord hasn’t spoken, “this means two things. One - they are much more likely to kill me on accident. Two - they will realize soon that it is far more effective to torture me to hurt you.”

“Come again?” Fjord says, his throat tight.

“There will come a time when they threaten to harm me to extract information from you, because they will realize that hurting me is going nowhere. And Fjord,” Caleb says, and he twists painfully in Fjord’s arms so that his blue eyes are piercing Fjord where he sits, “it is of the utmost importance that you do not allow this.”

“You want me to just…let them hurt you,” Fjord says, slowly.

“Ja, exactly that,” Caleb says.

“I can’t,” Fjord says.

“You must, Fjord, because you not doing it will put our companions at greater risk, and that I cannot allow.”

“What do they want, anyway?”

“The Beacon,” Caleb says, and quickly continues, “and before you tell me we should just give it up, Fjord, I need it. I need it for what I must do in the future, and you promised me that you would help.”

“I can’t help you if you’re dead,” Fjord protests.

“I would rather be dead than fail,” Caleb says, flatly. Fjord has never had any doubt about that. Caleb turns back to a more comfortable position on Fjord’s lap, and Fjord moves to accommodate. He still hasn’t let go of Caleb’s hand, and his palm is starting to feel sweaty. However, when he releases his fingers, Caleb immediately reaches for him again. Fjord wipes his palm on his trousers and takes the proffered hand once more.

“Caleb,” Fjord says.

“Fjord,” Caleb says, and he’s lost the energetic mania from before. He just sounds exhausted.

“You said they were bad torturers,” Fjord starts, and hesitates.

“I did,” Caleb says.

“Does that mean at one point, you’ve known better ones?” Fjord manages, at last. He’s seen the scars on Caleb’s body, but had thought nothing of it. Fjord has plenty of scars, it comes from a life hard lived and it’s always been clear that Caleb has lived very hard for a very long time. Only now are the pieces coming together, causing the hair on Fjord’s neck to stand on end. He looks down at Caleb’s hand in his, now free of the bandages that typically adorn his arms, and the marks which were innocuous before seem sinister now. Caleb laughs softly.

“There are no skilled torturers, Fjord,” Caleb says, “only evil ones.” Fjord pushes back the nausea rising in his throat.

“Caleb,” Fjord says, his voice hoarse, his throat clicking, “what happened to you?”

“Nothing worse than what I have done to myself,” Caleb says, his voice emotionless, and that shuts Fjord up very fast. They remain like that for a long time. Later, Caleb instructs Fjord on how to bind his ribs and his hands, how to keep his pierced torso as clean as they can manage under the circumstances. When they are done, they return to silence.

 

When the others find them, days have passed. Not enough for Caleb to shatter or Fjord to break, but it’s a close thing. Later, Caleb will discover that he has difficulty sleeping when not being held. Fjord won’t be able to stand to have anything touching his wrists. The group will help them. They recover. But for now, after Jester and Caduceus heal them enough to walk out of that cell unaided, Caleb holds out his hand for Fjord like he sometimes does to Nott, and Fjord, after a moment of hesitation, takes it.

**Author's Note:**

> I really could have made this a much longer fic, and in fact, had started doing so before I had to rein myself in. I left room to pick this back up, but for now, another entry in the books, let's keep it rolling. 
> 
> Join me at @calebwidogasts on tumblr, where I have yet to be nuked from the site, as I keep pushing through prompts.


End file.
